storm clouds come rolling in
by therentyoupay
Summary: And it all ends with her blue, tempest eyes. — Tahno/Korra. Fourth and final installment of the "break the ice" series.


******Disclaimer:** I do not own _Avatar: The Legend of Korra._**  
****Musical Inspiration: **"Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons.**  
****Beta'd **by**ebonyquill **and**Rhi**.

**Author's Notes: **_8/16/13. _Well. Here we are again.

Some of you may remember from the end note at the final installment of _gray skies ahead _something about _storm clouds come rolling in_ consisting of three parts. Yes, that was the original plan. Yes, the story still follows three main arcs. The problem is that I've come to realize how ambitious a goal that truly is, given that the word count of each part could probably rival that of any novella's. Thus, given my ever-busying schedule, the general reader's patience in enduring longer chapters, (and my own impatience in posting :P), I've decided that I will be posting each arc in smaller snippets, after all.

This fic series is truly one of my proudest creations, but I must warn you: between juggling at least two other fics, participating in NaNoWriMo 2013, and doing my best to manage real life obligations, the updates for all of my fics are becoming very unpredictable. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through all the uncertainty and hiatuses and long waits! I really appreciate the patience, haha.

I think this goes without saying, but just in case: if you are here, it is because you have read the three previous fics in the _break the ice _series: (1) _break the __ice_, (2) _but we're still so cold_, and (3) _gray skies ahead. _If you have not already read these, please turn back now!  
And without further ado...

* * *

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

It is only a few hours later and, though they do not know it fully, their time together is already coming to an end.

* * *

.

.

.

**the calm before**

It is a picture that they have painted many times before; bare limbs curled in the tangled white sheets, the steady drumming beat of raindrops on the roof, and the warm scent of herbal tea swirling through the air. Tahno's lower-half is covered under the blankets, his back propped against a sturdy wall of fluffed pillows, while Korra lies alongside him on her stomach—half-under the sheets, half-falling out to the side—with her bare back exposed to the chilly air and her head resting in his lap. His fingers are twined through her hair, and the gentle ministrations should make her feel sleepy and sated, but Korra is not tired.

She opens her mouth to speak, but it takes a moment for the words to come. Korra stares at a spot on the wall.

"I think I may have to wait a while... before I can come back."

Slowly, Tahno's lazy motions come to a stop. His palm is warm against the top of her head, and while it is comforting, it also feels like just another pressure laid heavily upon her soul. He is quiet, and she supposes that he is not surprised.

"They're expecting me back for dinner," she goes on, acutely aware of the strong muscles of his thigh beneath her cheek, separated only by a thin layer of cotton. "Lin Beifong will be over, and... I'm going to explain the whole... ordeal. To both of them. Since I was still so hazy from the sleeping draught these last few days, they... I haven't had much of a chance to explain," she finishes, scarcely allowing herself to breathe. "He's going to ask her to watch over the island while he meets with council, now that he's finally convinced them to listen. They have an urgent meeting set first thing for the morning."

Tahno looks down at her in his lap, feeling the tension in her small, tight frame. He cannot see her eyes from this angle, but he doesn't need to. There are many disturbing implications to what she has just said, and what catches his attention most is probably not what should have. He knows he shouldn't ask, but Tahno has always been an admittedly intrusive creature.

"Sleeping draught?" he asks quietly.

"From Lady Katara," she answers, just above a whisper.

"You said you weren't injured."

"I wasn't," she insists, wondering if he's noticed the way his fingers have curled more tightly into her hair. A subconscious act, she is sure, and it brings just as much sorrow to her as it does comfort. "Not seriously, anyway."

"So what was it for? To keep you from running off, then?" he speculates lightly, gently tapping the pads of his fingers into her skull, as if to remind her where she is.

"No," she whispers, unable to let him lead her out of this hole. There is a dark, heavy feeling settling in Korra's gut; it is the knowledge that she has no true idea as to when she will see him again. The weight of all that has still been left unsaid. "It was mostly for the nightmares." She can feel Tahno stiffen beneath her, and almost regrets bringing it up.

Almost.

"Tahno?" she whispers, not daring to move her face. "There's something I need to tell you. It's something I should have told you about earlier, when it happened." When he lifts his hand from her hair and slowly lowers it onto his lap, Korra feels the loss like a physical blow.

"What is it?" he asks carefully. The calm of his voice is betrayed by the tension in his muscles.

Korra inhales deeply. "It was a while ago, and I... I _wanted_ to say something..."

"What?"

_Why is this so hard? _Korra wonders to herself, feeling the corners of her mouth tighten with a frown. But she finds no easy answer and, in the midst of her thoughtful silence, Tahno shifts out from underneath her, gently dropping her head onto the mattress. Panicked, she raises her face to look up at him—to see where he is going—but her concern is unnecessary, for he has merely shifted himself further down beside her so that he can see her face. She's not sure if she's relieved, or terrified. As he levels his gaze to hers, disregarding the pillows as she has done, Korra quietly blurts: "I know that you have nightmares."

When his eyes widen, her hands jump to the hard line of his collar. "I'm sorry! Not on purpose! I didn't realize what was happening until... I came to your apartment one night, and—you were asleep, but not—and I didn't know if I should say anything, or... I'm sorry," she repeats. "I didn't mean to pry."

The look he gives her is unreadable, and even though his eyes continue to search hers, she gets the feeling that he's already found whatever it is that he was looking for. At length, he says, "I'd been wondering what you meant... when you threw that at me. That you have nightmares, _too_."

The reminder of that awful night—_so long ago, forever ago, still fresh in her mind_—makes her flinch. "You never said anything," she continues, almost defensively. "I wasn't sure you wanted me to know."

A dark brow raises. Korra notes that he doesn't seem majorly upset, only bemused. "And what about yours?"

Korra's lips thin into a frown. "I guess I never really thought I had any right to complain," she admits.

The mattress dips and shifts as he nods his head in thought, an a twinge of irony flickers into his eyes. "Doesn't sound so much different from my reason; I figured I'd used up all my complaints a long time ago."

Korra nearly snorts into the mattress. "Tahno, you always complain."

"That is precisely my point."

Her head shakes over the soft fabric and she feels a little better, but she is still not yet satisfied. "I wish you would have told me," she admits, trying not to think about all of the other things they have still not told each other. _I've never told him what it was like, when he tried to bend and I found him on the bathroom floor, lying in his own blood, his hand ripped to shreds from broken glass. Or that night on the beach. Or that now is not the time_, she tells herself. _Not now_.

_But when?_

"I could say the same to you."

His voice sounds stiff, just another example of their never-ending reticence; _is it really necessary for us to continue holding back?_ she wonders. _Even now? Why do we keep doing this to ourselves? _

_Maybe it's just too hard to break the habit,_ she thinks with a small frown, waiting for the courage she needs to fix it.

"You're not mad?" she checks. "About me knowing about your nightmares and not telling you before?"

His eyes fall to her lips, and Korra tries not to let herself get distracted. "It's not so bad," he sighs, slowly dragging his fingers down her neck. "Considering I was sure you were going to bring up your kiss with Mako."

He can feel her pulse jump beneath his hand. "Tahno," she whispers urgently, forcing his eyes back to meet hers. "It's not what you think. It was only just—wait. How did you find out that we... where did you—?"

Her nerves are easy to read, but he's not going to take any chances; he wants the truth, clear and plain and from _her_. "I didn't know if you actually had," he bluffs; Tahno hadn't imagined Sato to be the kind to lie, especially about something like this, but a tiny pathetic part of him had still hoped, it seems.

"That's a dirty trick," Korra whispers, lips pulling downward. She's looking at him a way that he's never seen before, not even during the worst of their fights.

Tahno gives a careless shrug, and his impassive face hides the growing weight of dread in his chest, as well as the tiny wad of guilt. _She's right, of course_. It _was _a dirty trick. They'd never promised each other anything, after all; he had no claim, she had no obligation to tell him, and so he'd _taken _the truth from her, dragged it right of her own mouth with a cheap—_but effective_—dirty_, _little trick. But that's just one of his many strengths, one of the many things he excels in, or so he's been told. He's not sorry he brought it up, and the truth is that he _is _a little mad that _she _didn't, and the truth is that Tahno is still grappling with the feelings he experienced while she was away, lost somewhere in the mountains by a madman with a score to settle. At first, he'd thought the aching loss had just been withdrawal, like a drug—_we both traded in one for another, after all_—but he wasn't going to let himself think about it, not until she was back—_back in his arms_—and now—_now she is here_. To Tahno's surprise, some realizations are easier to accept than others: it isn't quite so difficult to admit that this is more than just an addiction, or that he feels so differently about her, so much differently from anything he has ever felt about anyone before. It is far, far more difficult, however, to pinpoint just what those feelings are, even—_especially_—now that she is here. Especially now that he can see that mouth, feel it—_and he does, he drags his fingers up and across the soft skin of her lips_—and knows now, finally, who else that mouth has kissed.

The smile he gives her is apologetic, but not.

"I am a master, after all."

Her face tightens, but his fingers do not stray. When she speaks, the movements of her words caress his skin. "It was a long time ago," she tells him. "Before you and I ever... Before the festival, even."

Tahno bites his cheek, frowning. This news relieves him, a bit, but it doesn't truly help, because even if she hasn't kissed him since, and even if she has only kissed him once, it doesn't mean that she hasn't wanted to do it again. He removes his hand. "Do you have feelings for him?"

He can feel the fullness of her breaths through the mattress, and for a selfish moment, he wishes he could still feel her heartbeat, to see whether she might lie. The urge silences some of the bitterness within him, however; Korra is many things, but a liar she is not. Tahno looks into her eyes, and waits. Korra, on the other hand, is completely caught off-guard, though she _knows _she should have expected this. It has been a while since Korra has asked herself this question, and much longer since she has actually answered it, but it doesn't take her long to realize the truth.

"Not like I used to," she whispers.

It's an answer, though not a very clear one, and it does anything but satisfy either of them. "I did," she admits, wanting to clarify. "And the night in the stadium—when we... when we kissed—it was my fault. It was after one of the matches leading up to the finals. I'd only just met you the day before," she hastily explains, slowly spreading her fingers into the sheets. Unknowingly, Tahno had shifted farther back along the bed, leaving an even greater divide between them. Korra desperately wants to erase it, but is wary of infringing upon the space he so clearly wants.

What had _he_ even been doing that night? he wonders. _Was it after the quarter-finals? The semi? _It was probably all the same, anyway. _Same tricks, different team, different girls, same worthless waste of time... _Does he really have any right to complain? _What is one kiss compared to a world of sin? Why does this even matter? __Does__it matter? _

(_Yes_, he decides.)

"The Festival of the Moon happened right after," Korra sighs, breaking Tahno from his dark, swirling thoughts. "And that's when things got... even more complicated." A small laugh escapes her, and irrationally, Tahno feels a stab of guilt; they'd only just been reunited, and here he is, tearing her apart all over again. "Do you remember?" she asks through a broken whisper. "That night?" _That dance?_

"Yes," he cracks. _I remember._

"I remember it, too," Korra sighs, eyes falling to the soft white. "I felt resentful of my teammates' protectiveness of me for the first time that night... and when I really realized how selfish I was being, by pushing Mako to choose between Asami and I." It isn't until she looks up into his eyes that Tahno feels how _his_ face has twisted in confusion. "I was the one who initiated the kiss," Korra admits with another sigh, as Tahno's stomach turns to lead. "Bolin was the one who found us and... well. We almost didn't make it to the Championships."

His nod is stiff, and his jaw is tight, and still, he is silent. Now that Korra has started, however, she can't seem to stop. "I honestly don't know if they've even talked about it... Mako and Asami, I mean. She confronted me about it a few days ago, when I was just waking up... but I'm not sure he knows yet. And I'm not sure what will happen to them, but they at least deserve to salvage what they can... you know?"

Tahno has _many_ things he'd like to say to that and, under normal circumstances, would not dare hold back. Yet, for some reason, Tahno can't bring himself to share. Perplexed, he considers the unfamiliar conflict he feels, the viscous guilt sliding up his bones; under normal circumstances, such hesitance wouldn't possibly phase him, but now... Tahno cannot deny that to speak of the matter would be a betrayal to Asami Sato—_Asami Sato_, who has had her life torn apart in more ways than one—so much so that he can't bring himself to express the frustration he feels, to voice the anger he thinks Sato rightfully deserves to bear. It's a strange feeling, keeping something of this magnitude—something that isn't even _his_—to himself, but what makes it even stranger is that the person he does not want to betray Sato's secrets to is... Korra. Supposedly a teammate. A friend.

_And again, _he sneers. _The firebender is at the center of it all_.

It is while Korra continues to wait for a response that he wonders, not for the first time, if he should find some way to bring up his on-going partnership with Asami._After all,_ he thinks, feeling ever the hypocrite. _She's not the only one who's been harboring secrets. _

The problem with revealing that he has grown close to a certain industrial heiress is that their connection grew from an unfortunate—_fortunate_—encounter while he was assuming his Equalist role, which is something that he is staunchly against sharing with the Avatar. And not just for the reasons that he'd told Sato earlier, about protecting the Avatar, though they are still true; the truth—the _real _truth—is that Tahno fears the inevitable. She won't approve of what he's been up to over these last few weeks. He know this. She will ask him to end it, she will ask him to stop—_beg, threaten, fight_—and he's afraid that when she does—

He won't be able to say no.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

**storm clouds come **

**rolling**

**in**

**PART I : **_the revolution_

* * *

A river of sludge and sewage trails under her feet, drifting and dripping between the soles of her boots. Korra stares straight ahead, watching the darkening sky fill with plumes of smoke from Equalist airships, and listens to the distant noise of engines whirring away, sounding out the on-going call of attack. She can still see the suspension wires that lead down to the landing platform at the island's entrance, where she knows Equalist soldiers are dropping from the sky. Her hands rest limply at her sides, and through the breath of wind that blows salty air through the staleness of the tunnel, Korra can sense every inch of her physical presence—feet rooted to the metal, spine stiff and jaw tight, body heavy with exertion, heart heavy with loss. The extra layer of fur wrapped around her shoulders had been stowed away for a number of weeks, carefully folded and placed inside a drawer in her room during the warmer days, and as Korra stares out onto the horizon and watches the Equalist soldiers invade her family's sanctuary, eyes glistening with unshed tears, she tries to pretend that instead of rust and smoke and grime, the scent surrounding her reminds her of a different kind of home.

She feels his hand rest upon her shoulder before she hears his voice. Unexpectedly, Korra is sent backwards in time, where she abruptly remembers a cold morning at the island's gazebo, full of crisp ocean breezes and gray skies, and a warning she'd already known but thought she'd never need. _Imagine what would have happened if it'd been an Equalist_, he'd scolded. _It's not safe for you to let your guard down when—_

"Korra," Mako says. His voice is still firm, but there is a gentleness now that wasn't there before. His fingers give a small squeeze over the layers of fur of her shoulder, but it is hardly noticeable. Perhaps she is imagining it. "We should get moving."

But then he turns her away from the scene and guides her down the tunnel, deeper into the darkness. When she realizes that his hand is still wrapped around her, holding her close to his side, that it is not her imagination playing tricks after all, her brows pull downward. Suddenly very aware of just exactly where she is—and who is probably watching, behind her—Korra delicately extracts herself from his hold and summons a small flame, holding it out to light their way. It has been many, many years since she has needed both hands to keep the flame alive, but at least this way, she knows that no one will reach for them.

The group is morosely silent, filled with all the dread and tension that the evening has wrought upon them, but Mako seems the most determined to wear a brave face. "We need a plan," he announces quietly into the long tunnel, and the swishes of his steps through the water drown out any potential for echoes.

Bolin has been uncharacteristically quiet since their ascent onto the mainland, yet he is still the first to respond. "Maybe Gommu?" he suggests just as quietly, dragging a hand along the curved metal wall for support as he trudges through. "Last I heard, he still lives underground. We could try looking for his new hideout."

"We can't risk putting him in danger until we're sure that he can take us in," Mako points out. Then, with a frown, he adds, "Or if he's even willing."

Korra listens to the words with a detached sense of awareness; she should be contributing to this in some way, she thinks. Making a plan, solving the problem—this is the stuff of the Avatar. _Of a leader._ For so long she'd been wanting the opportunity to take charge, to show that she was capable—_and here it is_, smacking her in the face—but all she can do is think about what it was like, just a few moments ago, to stand at the mouth of the tunnel and watch as everything she has come to know and love about this city fall to dark and horrid machines, to the whims of a madman and his technical toys.

_Well, _she thinks, feeling her feet slide robotically through the muck. A face flashes through her mind.

_Not everything._

She glances back to the small burst of dimming light behind her, wondering. _Will he have heard the news by now? Will he know that I'm all right? _How many times had she asked herself where he would be, on the day when she finally faced Amon? Korra wants to know where Tahno is now, as the city is falling apart... Is he far enough away, out of the line of the Equalists' terror? Would he make it all the way to safety in time? _What about Narook? _A sharp stab of panic suddenly strikes through urge to go is so strong she actually flinches, stumbling as she thwarts her body's automatic attempt to run, and when Mako's hand flies out to steady her, she rights herself twice as quickly, dismissing his help with a stiff shake of her head. She does not look anywhere but forward.

There has to be a way to send word to him somehow—where Amon wouldn't be able to find it, where what was left of the police force wouldn't be able to trace it—_but there is no time._

"Asami?" Bolin's voice begins uncertainly from behind, giving Korra pause. "What is it?"

When Korra turns back to Asami, there is a thoughtful frown upon her beautiful face. Her own mind is still an uncontrollable whir, but at the sight before her, Korra's brows draw together curiously. Slowly, her boots come to a halt entirely. There is fear in Asami's bright green eyes, but also hope and anticipation... and a determination that Korra doesn't understand.

She looks at each of them in turn, arms crossed and expression carefully blank, but when it comes time to say whatever it is that she means to say, it's Korra who she looks straight in the eye. _A leader, _her mind whispers.

The Avatar.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"I think I know someone who might be able to help us."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

It is well into the night before they arrive at their destination. Korra hasn't been able to soften the rigid set of her spine in hours, though she does her best not to show it. The deeper they go into the tunnels, the farther away they crawl from the city, left to burn above them. Her expression is so determinedly blank that her face actually _hurts_, but Asami seems to know where she's going, and Korra just has to trust her.

Eventually, Asami comes to a halt. The others freeze behind her, and wait.

"We're close," she whispers, fingers flexing at her sides. Korra knows that look; the look of someone with the urge to run, and the obligation to stay. _Whatever it is that she's looking for, it's visibly eating away at her_, Korra thinks. Asami is obviously holding back for their sake, but her rippling tension is still more than enough to put Korra even more on edge. Before she even realizes what she's doing, Korra's guard is high.

Asami glances back at the rest of the team, deliberating. Mako seems to sense what she needs.

"You go ahead," Mako urges her quietly, taking a defensive stance of his own. "We'll be right behind you."

She nods stiffly, then looks directly at Korra. "On my signal," she promises, then turns away and disappears around the corner.

Korra, Bolin, and Mako press themselves against the wall; around the corner from where Asami strayed, Korra stands in the darkness, with Bolin shielding her back and Mako flanking her side—_teammates through and through, right? _She is acutely aware of the way this forces Mako's torso to brush against hers, but tries to focus on the distant noises around the corner instead. _From this angle, seeing is impossible, but just hearing should be enough. For now._ As much as Korra _wants_ to trust Asami—and honestly has no reason not to, except for the realization that _she _has already done most everything possible to betray _her _trust—there is still too much at stake.

"Someone's coming," Mako announces through a whisper, crouching lower. Instantly, Korra stills, tentatively resting her weight in the balls of her feet. Behind her, she can feel Bolin do the same. Hurried footsteps echo over a metal bridge, ringing in Korra's ears. He's right; someone is coming, right for their teammate.

"I hope Asami knows what she's doing," Bolin whispers, so quiet that not even Mako can hear him. Korra frowns, but can't tear her attention away. Not now.

"_Sato!_" calls a muffled voice, rushing toward her. It is deep, almost indistinguishable due to some sort of fabric that must be covering his face, but the realization that there is _someone else there_ freezes Korra's breath ice-cold in her lungs. Mako tries pulling back on her shoulder, but she _has _to see; she crouches lower to the ground and slips farther past the bend of the wall, peering carefully toward where Asami and the stranger stand. _An Equalist! _she cries, her mind spitting acid as she spies the mask he still wears. _Asami! What the hell are you—? _

"I'm sorry," she rushes out, and lifts her hands—not in attack, not in an embrace—but simply out, reaching toward him. Without thinking, Korra simply _moves—_until Mako takes hold of her waist and hoists her back. As she pries his fingers off of her, she looks up at him with unadulterated rage, ready to drag him with her. And then she sees the look on his face.

Slowly, Korra turns her gaze back to their teammate—Mako's arm still wrapped protectively, haltingly around her torso—and Korra stills, one hand clamped tightly over the jut of wall that separates her from the scene, frozen with shock.

The Equalist is more than he appears to be; his hands have taken hold of Asami's arms, his gloved fingers wrapped tightly around the strings of muscle connecting the elbows to the wrists. His hold is aggressive, but not violent; insistent, but not _unwanted... _Korra can feel Mako's hand instinctively clench over the flat of her stomach as Asami's movements match this stranger's, as her hands take hold of his arms, a forceful hold—a _bond_—that holds a force all on its own, one that neither seems intent on letting go.

"Are you all right?" the voice demands. Korra's breath lodges in her throat as she watches these arms—dressed in uniform, in the unearthly shades of equality—watches as they wrap themselves around the daughter of the father of the revolution, and tries not to think about Mako's ragged breaths blowing hot down her neck. "What the hell happened? I heard that the island got attacked—where the hell have you been?"

Korra resists the urge to shudder when Asami looks up into those glassy, yellow eyes. That awful mask affects her more than it should, and Korra forces herself not to retreat further into the shadows where it can't be seen. But there is something haltingly familiar about the voice beneath it, and Korra wonders if perhaps she's met this _dangerous, miraculous_ stranger before.

"It did," Asami tells him quietly, voice wavering with barely-repressed emotion. Korra's heart squeezes with memory, yearning to reach out to hers. "I'm sorry—we couldn't go back to the surface, and for a while I wasn't sure if it would be safe for you—for us to come at all."

"You should have come right away," the man tells her harshly, leaning closer. "They're looking everywhere for you! At least with me, you'd have—"

"I know," she breathes, halting his words with a single look; her gaze is strong, but her grip on his arms is almost desperate. And then, "Can you help us?"

Korra holds her breath, and wonders at the difference a single word can make, to ask if someone _can... _not if they _will_.

But the man doesn't answer immediately.

"Us?" he echoes slowly, and then he straightens, raising his chin tall. Korra silently scrambles farther back behind the wall, straining her ears against the pounding of her heart. His voice stiffens. "Where is she?"

"Tell me," Asami insists, trying to recapture his attention. She tugs on his arms, but still his head scans the tunnel, searching for the one with her heart beating loudly in her ears. "Can you help us?" she repeats.

Korra suddenly finds herself being thrust back into Bolin's arms as Mako steps forward, marching toward their teammate and her Equalist, and demands, "Asami, who the hell is this?"

Asami glances back, but otherwise doesn't answer. Clinging onto her supposed ally, Asami looks into the mask and tells him. "She's here, with us," she whispers. Finally, the mask returns her gaze. Korra squints into the shadows, watches the realization set into the line of his shoulders as Bolin helps her stand, as her hair falls into her eyes.

"The Avatar is with you?"

"Asami, don't tell this guy _anyth—_"

"Yes," Asami tells him, holding tight... but the Equalist is already slipping away. "I'm sorry—we didn't know where else to go."

"No," the Equalist whispers, his hands falling from hers. Mako steps forward to Asami's side, but she raises a hand to stop him. Silently, they regard one another, the firebender, the heiress, and the man hiding behind a mask. "No," he repeats, more loudly. His tone has changed entirely. "It's fine."

Korra swallows hard, feeling Bolin's arms tighten carefully around her. Almost irrationally, Korra feels the almost unbearable need to sink into them, to crawl into an even deeper hole and stay there, hidden away from this mess forever—just before a ball of disgust rolls into her belly, catches fire in her chest, and explodes behind her eyes. In less than a moment, Korra has made a decision, and it is less than a moment later that she steps out into the open.

A cautious brow. Her mouth a firm, grim line. _And a danger_—captured in her blue, tempest eyes. _She is not weak_. Korra steps forward with careful, calculated strides, chin held high with defiance, eyes narrowed with suspicion, heart pounding with fear. She is the Avatar, and she is strong. She fears, but she is brave. She is strong.

And she deserves to know.

"Who are you?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The mask slips

and it is

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

_wrong._

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Because her eyes must be lying.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The silence does not last  
as long as Korra thinks it should.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"_What?_" Mako's voice rasps through the barren tunnel, once the mask slips free. "Asami—what the hell is this?"

"Mako," Asami warns, voice tight with impatience. "Tahno can help us."

"You can't be fucking serious!"

Her emerald eyes burn. "I am deathly serious."

"What are you even doing here?" Mako spits, glaring into Tahno's unmasked face. The firebender's expression is made of deep lines and twisted features, while Tahno's is blank, full of harsh reserve and sharp angles. He doesn't respond.

"Mako, Tahno is still on our side," Asami insists, subtly stepping between them. "This is a ploy! He's been infiltrating the Equalist ranks for weeks now—they think he's one of them!"

"He _is _one of them!"

"He is the only one who can help us," Asami hisses, subtly twisting herself so that she faces Mako fully, with Tahno at her back, as if she were shielding him. The subtlety of the effect is not lost on Mako.

His features twist into a fierce snarl. "There is no fucking _way _that I am trusting this scumbag."

Suddenly, Tahno scoffs. All eyes turn to him, surprised; he had not uttered a single sound since removing his mask. "Still just as charming as ever, firebender," he notes quietly, eyes locked onto the gruesome face of his rival.

"You _motherfu_—"

"Mako," Asami hisses through gritted teeth. "_Enough._"

"How can you just—_stand _there and defend him like this?" he snarls, glaring down into her fierce, determined eyes.

"If you would just _listen _to reason and _trust _me—"

"Asami, I don't know about this," Bolin announced warily. "I mean, no offense," he turned to Tahno uneasily. "But you're not exactly made of honesty material. How do we know you're not really gonna double-cross us?"

"You don't."

"This is fucking ridiculous," Mako spits under his breath, running his hands through the mess of his hair.

"Think about it," Asami insists, patience worn. "We need an in. We have no clue exactly what Amon's next move will be. We want spies on the inside—well, this is our chance! Our _only _chance. Tahno will keep us informed and can even get us a couple disguises of our own... The only other way for us to get some suits would be to take down a few Equalists ourselves!"

"So why don't we?" Mako demands.

"And risk exposure?" Asami counters. "We have _not_ been that lucky lately."

"I'd rather get caught on my own that let this guy just hand us over!"

"If I wanted to turn you in, I would have done it already," Tahno drawls, sounding bored. His face is impassive, but his spine is rigid.

"Oh, yeah?" Mako snarls, stepping forward. Tahno tenses further at the invasion of his space, and his lip curls with disgust. "And what about that 'right moment' crap?" Mako continues, his white teeth flashing in the dark. "How Amon said that he's just waiting for an opportunity to make a martyr out of her? How do we know that's not exactly what you're doing?"

"_Mako_," Asami hisses, trying to insert herself between them, and failing.

"I want to know," he demands, snarling into Tahno's face. For the first time, Tahno's control falters, and he and Mako are left nose-to-nose, faces made ugly by hatred and fury.

"Korra?" Bolin quietly asks from the side.

Four gazes eventually come to rest on the figure of the Avatar, who stands apart from them all, just outside the circle of chaos they have built, looking in. Mako's eyes dart her way as soon as the name leaves his brother's lips, and Tahno is left staring into his sharp profile, dread and inevitability settling in his chest. Slowly, his eyes break away from the firbender, and come to rest directly on hers.

Tahno's gaze is the last to arrive.

She is standing there with arms crossed, and a curious tilt to the line of her neck. Her face is blank, but her eyes are swirling in thought, leaving Tahno with the disquieting impression of aloofness, though he knows that she is far from it. (_Though maybe he has no right to make such presumptions. Maybe he doesn't truly have that privilege of certainty anymore._) She seems calm, but pensive. Her face is a blank canvas and it slices through him, it sinks to the bottom of his stomach like a jagged chunk of ice because _he can usually read her so well. _She is looking straight at him, straight into him.

She is quiet.

"Korra?" Mako prompts. Tahno nearly cringes at the way he says her name, but if she notices, he doesn't let on.

Finally, she responds.

In a voice that does not quite match her years, Korra speaks for all of them. "We'll take the suits," she decides, in a tone that he has never heard before. _She is the Avatar, _he remembers. She is the leader.

He swallows. "All right."

Mako's thick brows immediately furrow together, and a disgusted, disbelieving scoff singes the air. Tahno feels his jaw tighten as the firebender breaks away from the group to collect himself, and Tahno distantly feels a release of hot air whoosh past his jaw. His breathing quickens as he struggles to maintain his stance, to keep his feet rooted to the ground under her penetrating stare. (Her arms are still crossed, her stance is still strong, and Tahno has to wonder—_who is it now, that is wearing a mask?_) Bolin sighs beside him, and from the corner of Tahno's eye, the younger brother appears to be relieved that a choice has been made, even if it is not one he likes. He can feel Sato's eyes on him. She is looking between the two of them, he and the Avatar, frowning thoughtfully.

Under the silent stare of the Avatar, Tahno burns.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"So," she says softly, a twist of irony to her dark, cold eyes.

"Where do we start?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.


End file.
